I've Given Up
by Clouddoodles
Summary: I don't know why I'm still here. Maybe because, until today, I had thought there was a sliver of a chance I might still find him. But when I woke up this morning from my fitful sleep, I realized that he is long gone. Matt/Mello, T for language and attempted suicide, etc. A little OOC. Oneshot. PLEASE R&R I'll give you a cookie: (cookie)


** Okay, I had inspiration to write an angsty, sad thing for Mello and Matt and I got this. WARNING: Suicidal, depressed Matt, attempted character suicide. **

** No, I am not depressed. I never was. I know someone who is depressed, and I would do anything to help them. I have been told I give very good advice, and I like to help people. If you need someone who will just listen, I will. I won't judge, either. Promise.**

** I just felt I should say that. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Death Note. I just am extremely in love with it. **

**Matt POV**

I stare at the smudged mirror, my hands clutching either side of the rusty sink. I see myself reflected back at me: me brown-red hair, pale skin, and dark, hollow blue eyes. My eyes look haunted and dead. I don't know why I took my goggles off. I'd rather hide forever behind them than face reality, I guess. But at this point, there's no good reason to anymore.

I stare at the mirror for another five minuets, letting hopelessness and rage well up inside of me. In one swift motion, I pull my fist back and punch the mirror as hard as I can. It shatters, destroying the pathetic image of myself. I glare at the shattered glass until the last piece stops tinkling, then look down at my knuckles. Blood oozes out of them, and I numbly brush the shards of glass away. I feel the pain, but it's no different from what I'm used to.

My striped shirt still lies on the floor; the many pale lines that cross, horizontally, over my forearms now captivate my eyes. I remember when I made the first one, three years ago. A year after my life started spiraling out of control. I had given into the temptation of temporarily subduing the monster inside me far too many times. I know, in my heart, that with each cut I make I only fuel my depression, but I stopped caring a long time ago.

I have given up. It's pathetic, but true. I've spent the past four years of my life looking for my second half, but I haven't found it yet. I haven't found him. I never will.

After nearly six months of barely a word, I left the orphanage I had grown up in. I started searching desperately, hoping to find _something, _some trace of the one thing that was good in my life. I found a few leads that kept me going until I ended up in LA. Since then, I haven't found a thing. Five months ago, I stopped searching. I gave up.

Part of me still hopes that I'll find him. I won't.

I am just a burden to the world now, a useless person who barely pays his rent each month. I can barely afford my tiny apartment of hardly three rooms. I don't even have a stable job. Mostly I just hack onto numerous accounts and take a little at a time, until I have scraped together enough to survive on.

I don't know why I'm still here. Maybe because, until today, I had thought there was a sliver of a chance I might still find him. But when I woke up this morning from my fitful sleep, I realized that he is long gone.

Mello. Mihael. Mihael Keehl.

I wish I could see him once more, even if just to tell him what I should've four years ago. But when L died, the whole thing became too much for him and… he left. He didn't realize how much that would kill me.

I was the only person ever to befriend the temperamental chocolate addict. The only person he wouldn't murder just for looking at him the wrong way. I knew this would all change, of course, if I told him what had been running through my mind hardly half a year after meeting him. He would shove me away, reject me, hate me.

I couldn't tell him I loved him. Now I regret that, and I wish I could tell him exactly how I feel now, even if he would just leave me again.

That's why I searched so long and hard for him. You will do anything for the person you love. But now, there's no hope of ever finding my second half.

Mello completed me. Mello was the only friend I ever had. The only one I ever told my true name to. I knew his secrets, well, most of them, and he knew almost all of mine. We even shared our pasts. I was a coward, fearing that my feelings would be one-sided, and that Mello would pour scorn on me.

Blood drips onto the white of the porcelain sink, pulling me out of my painful memories. I run my hand under some water and throw my shirt on. I leave the glass on the floor and scattered in the sink; I can't find it in me to clean it up right now. I pull my goggles back on.

I step out into the kitchen/living room. My dusty couch faces an old television set. My Gameboy lies on the couch, almost forgotten. For once, even my video games don't hold any interest for me. I used to be able to immerse myself in them and forget, but I can't anymore.

I spent practically all night sitting at the counter on a stool, smoking and sipping at some alcoholic thing. I watch how much I drink after two massive hangovers, but I still on on the verge of another addiction that will destroy my health.

I pick up the half-finished bottle of beer and take a halfhearted swig. I feel a little fuzzy from last night, but I don't care, I search for a lighter, hardly caring that my hand is still occasionally dripping blood on the floor. My apartment is a mess anyway.

I finally find a light and hold the flame to a cigarette. I've also stopped caring that cigs are bad for me. If I have cancer, well, I don't care at this point. I don't care about anything anymore.

That's not true, because I still spend many of my nights waiting by the door, clinging to one last shred of hope that Mello might come back to me.

Even though I know he won't. I am hopelessly in love with him, and I haven't heard from him in all four years he's been gone, but I refuse to believe that he's dead. Maybe that's what keeps me going.

I stare at the clock: nine thirty. PM. Okay, so it's not morning. I was passed out longer than I thought I was. Whatever. I stare blankly at the bottle, blowing out a puff of smoke.

I am pathetic, and I know it. Any sane, capable person would have picked themselves up and moved on by now. But that is what depression does to someone: makes you sit in your own misery and anger until you die. I've tried, I really have, to get up and move on with my life. But I haven't. I don't think I can.

I take another drink of the bitter alcohol. I swallow it, and glare at the fragile bottle. Suddenly, hatred for the thing wells up inside me and I hurl it at the wall. Wow, I'm breaking a lot today. It's like I'm turning into Mello-

_Stop thinking about him! _I growl at myself.

I won't, and I know it.

_I'm pathetic. I've given up on searching for someone I'll never even find, someone who doesn't even care about me anymore. He stopped caring a long time ago. I should have too. _

I don't know what triggers it, but suddenly I've had enough. I just want to _end _everything. I've thought about it before, but I still had hope then. I don't have hope now, though. I'm tired of being pathetic, tired of being useless, tired of being miserable. I've had enough, and I'm ending it.

I stand up and walk over to a small drawer at the far end of the counter. I yank it open and shift through a bunch of meaningless junk until I find what I'm looking for: my gun. I pull it out, along with some bullets. Just as I'm about to shut the drawer, my eyes fall on a faded picture. I pick it slowly out of the drawer.

I remember the day these were taken. We all had to have our pictures taken at Wammy's, yearly. A fourteen-year-old Mello scowls at me from the paper. This was taken just a few months before he left.

Sudden tears I thought I had run out of spring to my eyes. I toss the picture onto the counter and clench my fist, leaning back against the white tile. I load my gun, my hands shaking slightly.

_I don't care any more. I have no reason to be here. I'm useless, miserable, a pointless existence. I'm _ending _it. I'm going to Hell, but whatever's there is probably better that what's here. _

I put the gun to my temple, cock it, and… hesitate. I don't know what holds me back, but something makes me stop for a few seconds, staring blankly at the picture of Mello next to me.

_I love you. _

I brush the photo away, unable to look at it anymore, and clench the edge of the counter. I have no reason to write a note; no one will ever read it, or care, for that matter. The cigarette falls from my mouth. Maybe it'll burn the whole place down. My finger slowly pulls back on the trigger…

My door flies open, and someone chokes, "Matt?" I turn my head at the same second I fire the gun. The bullet just barely misses my head and thuds into the cabinet behind me. The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears, and I stare in complete shock and disbelief at the person standing in my doorway.

The left side of his face is scarred horribly, but I still know instantly who it is. I hear a choking sound escape my mouth, and the gun slips out of my hand, clattering to the ground.

"M-Mello?" I choke, feeling my legs start to give out. I tumble to the floor, goggles falling off my face, and at the last second a pair of arms catch me, keeping me from hitting my head on the floor. I feel like I'm about to black out.

"Matt! Matt! God dammit, Matt, what the _fuck _were you doing?" Mello shouts. I'm having trouble focusing. There is no way this is real.

Mello is gone. Long gone. I am dead, and this is Hell, taunting me, tricking me that he's back. But he feels so real.

"Mel…lo?" I choke again as he leans my back against the counter.

"Matt, why…" his voice trails off, probably at my expression.

I stare at him, in complete disbelief and shock. He's not real. He can't be real…

"You aren't real. There's no fucking way you're real. This is so mean…" I mutter, staring at him.

Mello stares at me, his eyes full of confusion and worry. "Matt, I'm real."

I shake my head stubbornly. I can't believe it, for the sake of my sanity.

Mello scowls at me. "_Mail Jeevas, _I'm fucking real and you fucking know it!" he snarls, his eyes fiery. I notice a half-eaten chocolate bar thrown on the floor a few feet from him, along with my gun, and suddenly I know that Mello is here. The one person I've ever really loved is here.

And at that same instant all my pain surges inside of me, a mixture of anger and overwhelming misery. I lurch forward and grab Mello's coat in my hands, my whole body shaking violently. I'm not even in control of my actions.

"_Where… have… you… been?" _I manage, and Mello's eyes widen. I know exactly what he's hearing and seeing: all my agony pouring out through my voice and my eyes. "Do you have any _idea _how… many… nights I've _sat _here, _waiting, _hoping that I'd find _something _or that you'd somehow turn up? Do you know… how… long I've been looking for you?" I'm shouting now. "Ever since you _left, _goddamnit! Every… single… _waking… moment… _of my pathetic _life _since you _left _I have been _searching _for you, wishing I hadn't let you leave! Wishing I'd told you everything! Realizing it's my fault, realizing that I'm never going to find you, trying to move on, being unable to move on…"

My pain-ridden rambling is cut off when the blonde's arms wrap around me, pulling me into him, my hands still clenching his black jacket. I realize tears are pouring down my face, and my breath hitches in my chest. I tremble in his arms.

"Matt… I'm sorry. I didn't realize you would search for me like this," he murmurs, sounding nothing like himself. "You can't forgive me, I know, but-"

"Mello, if I-I didn't forgive you, you would l-leave again," I blurt. "You c-can't leave, please." My voice comes in desperate gasps. _He's here. He's here. He can't leave again. If he leaves again I will not be able to cope this time. _

Mello pulls back and stares at me. "Matt…" his voice is dripping with regret and confusion and anger.

I can't stop the tears from dripping out of my eyes. "Please, Mihael, please don't leave me," I beg. I can't stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

"Why the hell do you want me here?" Mello demands.

"I've spent _f-four years _of my life l-looking for you, Mello. I gave up, and now… y-you're back," I stutter, releasing his clothes and letting my arms drop to my sides. My sleeves have ridden up, and when I look down, trying to stop the tears, I notice that the scars on my right wrist are clearly visible. I instinctively yank my sleeve down, but I'm too late. Mello grabs my wrist and pulls my sleeve back. I try to pull away, but he's too strong for me.

He stares in horror at my arm. "Matt, _why?" _

I shut my eyes, trying to get my thoughts together. "When you left, Mello, my life sort of fell apart," I admit, my voice a little less shaky. I realize I'm about to tell him everything. What a bad idea that is; Mello will leave me again.

Mello growls. "Why did you try to kill yourself, Matt?"

"I gave up."

"Gave up _what?"_

I open my eyes, finding his boring into mine. "I gave up on ever finding you. I gave up on ever fixing my fucking life. I gave up on trying to forget everything; I gave up on _everything."_

Matt lets go of my wrist and I let it fall. "Matt, why would you give up?" His voice is gentler now.

"My life has become worthless. Mello, I have to _steal _to pay my fucking rent. There's nothing for me left, or there wasn't until you walked in my door." I drop my gaze. "I gave up because I didn't think I would ever see you again. Mello, you were the one good thing to happen to me, my one friend, and then… I let you leave."

Mello looks at me still. I feel his gaze taking me in, and I know what he's seeing: a broken shell of what I was, with every bone in my body poking through my skin, and dark shadows under my eyes from countless nights of little sleep.

"It's not your fault I left. I had to leave. Matt, I left you because I didn't want to drag you into anything…" he tilts his head so his hair falls away from his face, revealing more of the awful scare that disfigures him. "I didn't want anything to happen to you. I didn't think anything would. I didn't think you would look for me…"

Mello stands and offers to help me up. I let him pull me too my feet, and I lean shakily on the counter. Mello picks up his chocolate and my gun, which he unloads and slips into his pocket, along with my bullets. I just watch him wearily.

"What happened to you?"

Mello winces. "I was in with the Mafia for a while. There was an explosion, and I was the only one who escaped. I looked around for my next best path, and then I stumbled upon you. I didn't think I would see you again…" His voice trails off.

"Matt, I missed you. I missed you as much as you missed me; I just had things to distract myself with. I was… lucky, I guess."

I let out a slightly shaky breath, thinking through everything that just happened. _Mello is here. Mello…_

"Matt," Mello says after a moment of silence. "You said… you said you'd wish you'd told me something before I left. What is it? Why have you been searching for me for so long?"

My eyes meet his for a moment. He's hardly two feet away from me. Sudden fear threatens to choke me. _What if he leaves again? What if I push him away? _I look down, hugging my waist. I can feel my bones, sharp through my skin.

_I have to tell him. I may not get another chance. _"Mello… I love you," I whisper.

There is silence, and I know what's coming. Mello is going to yell at me, and leave, disgusted. I'm going to be left alone. I regret telling him. At least I could have stayed with him this time.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, suddenly desperate not to be abandoned this time. "Just forget it! Please… forget I said anything, just… don't leave…" My eyes meet his, pleading.

In one swift motion Mello pulls me into him again.

"Matt, I'm not going to forget it." He tilts his head slightly, and softly presses his lips against mine. I am frozen for a few seconds, and my hands move on their own, tracing up his back to his shoulders. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer to me, slowly starting to unfreeze and kiss him back. My eyes flutter closed, and I move my hands up to tangle in his hair.

Mello pulls back a little to catch his breath, and I drop my head onto his shoulder, still trying to process what just happened. Mello murmurs,

"_You _do not know how long I've wanted to hear you say that," he murmurs. "I love you Matty, and I'm not leaving." The sound of his old nickname for me speeds my brain up. _Mello loves me. He's not leaving me…_

I smile for the first time in far, far too long as this sinks in, and lift my head. This time, I crush my lips into his as soon as they brush mine. Mello tastes like chocolate. I my breath is probably heavy with tobacco and alcohol, but Mello doesn't seem to care.

When I pull away from air, Mello lifts my chin with his hand, his eyes boring into mine.

"If I catch you hurting yourself again, I _will _not hold back," he warns. I smile again, and lean my head into his chest.

"As long as you're here, I don't need to," I murmur, squeezing him tighter, desperate to keep him close to me.

What I said is true.

For the first time in four years, I am happy.

**I'm not sure how I feel about this. I think I did an okay job, but if it seems rushed or something I will re-write. Please let me know what you think. Reviews are immensely appreciated. I wanted this to be really sad and angsty but with a happy ending… WOW is that CHEESY or WHAT? Ha-ha. Well, I thought it was cute at the end. Actually, I'm kind of depressed and happy at the same time now.**


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